This
by QueeQuegEvie
Summary: At this moment, standing between his desire and her begging eyes was himself. “Play with Fire” spoiler. G/S Angst. Hinted back story.


**This******

**Author**: Evie Chung, aka QueeQuegEvie

**Summary**: At this moment, standing between his desire and her begging eyes was himself. "Play with Fire" spoiler. G/S Angst. Hinted back story. PG13

**Disclaimer**: They are not mine. Don't sue me.

**Acknowledgement**: Big pretzels to Din for beta-ing the story. Thanks to Dev, Lac, Anne, Meggie, Topanga and the rest of you coz you all rock so hard!

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Maybe she should ask him to dinner, Sara thought when she glanced over the schedule. He had been aloof and withdrawn recently. Maybe they should do something casual, perhaps a cup of coffee after work, just so they could talk. Rationally, she would convince him and herself that she just wanted to talk him out of what had been bothering him, only as a friend. Fiddling with her vegetable sandwich, Sara quietly practiced the speech in her head; she would greet him, politely ask him about his break, and suggest him that they should grab a cup of coffee after work. Should she start with the case they had been working on? No. Should she cut to the chase about what had been bothering him? No, that would only scared him away --- he was always in denial. She knew his favorite coffee shop; that should lure him out all right. 

A familiar shadow walked over outside the break room. It was Grissom. 

Sara watched him walking in the hallway. People and technicians approached him with folders of memo, data, results, and messages. She was amazed how well he handled all of them. Before she realized it, she was already following him to the office. Just a few steps ahead of her, Nick rushed into Grissom's office. Sara stopped and turned around. This was stupid, she thought. What made her think he would listen this time? What made her think she could say….

Boom.

**=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=******

She thought she felt the repulsion push her against the glass wall. She thought she felt the harsh pain of hitting the ground. She thought she felt the sharp pain of broken glasses slicing through her skin. She thought she felt the hotness of flames. For a brief moment she lost contact with the world. The pain and fear dulled her mind, but memories flashed before her eyes. She saw her mother showing her how to play with flames when she was six; if she swept her fingers across it very fast, she would not feel anything. On the green, freshly cut lawn of her home, she was burned once playing with the candle and her father rushed to tend her. In college she tried to put her fingers into the fireplace just to dull the pain of loving someone too much, but someone else stopped her, pulled her hands back, and she turned around only to see this face she could never forget for the rest of her life. 

She heard screams. She felt the coldness of water sprinkled on her. She heard the alarms. She could not remember how she got up and walked out the partially ruined lab that now looked like a city corrupted by war. When the daylight hit her eyes, she felt numb and sat on the curb, looking at paramedics, firemen, and injured people, crying or not crying. 

 Grissom scanned the surrounding and saw Sara sitting on the curb looking into the empty space. He remembered the face with the same empty expression, numbed by pain, ten years ago. He knew she was not fine. He walked over and kneeled down. Her eyes did not move, still staring into the air between them. 

"Are you okay?"

"Hummm…" she tried to answer. She felt that she was sitting on the lawn at home, but she knew she was not. "I'm fine." Her voice was shaking.

He opened her palm. Blood. A deep cut. "Honey, this doesn't look good…"  

"I'm fine, really…" she said, struggling between her memories and realities. This man before her eyes --- did he say "honey" or "hey"? --- she could not think. She thought maybe she should care. She remembered her father had opened her palm and put cream on her hand. She remembered Grissom had pulled her from self-infliction. She remembered how Grissom had held her hands the night before she left for San Francisco. She remembered touching his face, and she remembered the feel of his skin and the warmth of his body… 

"You need to get stitches, …" Grissom said. He was afraid of the distant and withdrawn Sara. He hoped she could hear him. 

"I'm fine," she muttered.

He called for the paramedics to treat her and helped her stand up.  When he finally gave her to the paramedics, his hand lingered, wanting to go off with her. He could have lost her, he thought, and he would not have been able to save her. She was fortunate, and so was he.

**=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=******

 Sara opened her locker. In one shift she had a brush with death, did something stupid, and then they nailed the bad guy. She would call this day eventful. 

A picture of a little girl sitting on the green lawn stayed peacefully on the locker door. She recalled how her mother taught her to play with the flames. She was reluctant to try because of fear, but her mom had said that burns would always heal, but if Sara never tried, she would never experience the fun.

Burns _will_ heal. 

There were a lot of fears. She could not help feeling the glass slicing her and the heat pushing her whenever she walked through the hallway. She could not help feeling hurt just talking to Grissom. She could not help feeling the pain from her last relationship. None of these fears, however, were more real then the feeling of death; it was so close to her, so powerful and so unexpected. Dreams and hopes could end in a big bang, and then along with the existence, vanished without a trace. 

She walked to his office. This time she did not prepare a speech. She knew what she wanted, and she knew _this_ was what he wanted too. In the worst case, she would be burned again but she could finally move on.

She was smiling, he thought; it was a good sign. He could tell that she was back on her feet, but there was something about her…

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" 

He was not sure what she was up to. "No?"

Her eyes sparkled. "Why not? Let's have dinner. Let's see what happens."

He really wanted to do this. Ten years ago he backed up because she was his student. Seven years ago he hesitated because he did not want to tie her down. At this moment, standing between his desire and her begging eyes was himself. He hated to disappoint her, but he was not sure if she deserved him, a soon-to-be-deaf man.

"I don't know what to do about _this_," he almost choked --- _This_ relationship, _this_ hearing problem, _this_ life --- he could handle anything except for himself. 

"I do," Sara said. She could help him if only he could let her in, but how long would it take? Sara could still feel the death lingering in the hallway, behind her, above her, and everywhere. She recognized how much Grissom had aged in the past two years, and she knew death grasped lives without warnings. She wanted to live without regrets, and she could see desire and longing in his eyes, but she did not understand why he backed down again. "Damn it, just tell me, what's stopping you," Sara thought. 

"You know, by the time you figure it out, it really could be too late." 

He watched her leave. He sighed and turned off the light. When the darkness devoured him, he knew that _this_ was his demon, and if he had to play with the fire on his lonely journey, maybe he deserved the burn. 

**~Fin~**


End file.
